Page 88 of Wicked Scorn
“Jeremiah,” I murmur, his name a lifeline in my suffocation. “Please...I need you.”
I’m going to fucking die down here, but I’m not going without a fight. I’m gonna go all Blackwood on Mr. Bryant as soon as he fucking shows his rat face again.
“Fuck!” I slam my fists against the walls again, feeling the sting, the warmth of blood. But it’s no use. The walls are unyielding, just like the fear that grips me.
But my strength is waning. I need to conserve as much of it as possible because I’m taking him down with me, but all I want to do is pound relentlessly on this door. The exhaustion creeps in, a heavy weight dragging me down. My legs buckle, and I slump to the floor, feeling my vision blur, dark spots dancing before my eyes.
“Help,” I murmur again, my voice a broken plea. “Someone, please…”
I press my hand against the freezing floor, trying to push myself up, but my body feels heavy, unresponsive. The cold is a vise, squeezing the life out of me. Each breath is a struggle, a fight against the inevitable. I claw at the hinges. There’s no glass window to break, no handle to pull on. I’m truly stuck with no way out. I’m trying to count like Jeremiah taught me, to keep myself from panicking. I know the more worked up I get, the quicker I’ll use up the remaining oxygen left. Chills are all over my body and my lips are starting to go numb. I know that even if he does make it back to the library, there’s a slim chance he would look down here. My fingers are stinging and I try to rub them together, but that only makes the burning sensation worse.
I try to focus, to cling to a sliver of thought, but everything feels distant, slipping away like grains of sand through my icy fingers.
My eyelids grow heavy, fluttering shut despite my desperate attempts to keep them open. My senses dull; the once piercing cold now feels like a distant memory, a dream fading into oblivion.
Chapter 34
Jeremiah
Red lights, stop signs—they all blur together as I push the bike to its limits, weaving through traffic with recklessness. I can’t lose her again. Thank fuck I shared her location months ago.
The campus edges into view, and I grit my teeth, leaning harder into the turns. Just hold on, baby. I’m coming for you. And God help anyone stupid enough to get in my way.
We screech to a halt outside the library, and I’m off the bike before it’s fully stopped. The doors are locked, but that’s not about to stop me. I hurl my shoulder into the glass, and it shatters with an ear-splitting crash.
Shards rain down around us as we charge inside, but I barely register the stinging cuts. Inside, it’s like we’ve stepped into a waking nightmare. The main hall is trashed, books and furniture strewn about. My boots crunch on broken glass as I move deeper, scanning the wreckage for any sign of where my girl is.
My gaze sweeps through the lobby, landing on a crumpled form near the front desk. A cold fist closes around my heart asI take in the blood pooling beneath the body. The world tilts violently, nausea clawing at my throat as I fight down the scream building in my chest.
“Oh God. Oakley,” I choke out, staggering forward.
But Graham grabs my arm, his grip like iron as he pulls me back.
“That’s not her,” he murmurs, his voice grim. “Look closer.”
I blink, forcing myself to focus, and realization slams into me like a sledgehammer to the chest. It’s that nosy bitch from the library, Cindy, or whatever her name was. She was always snapping her fucking gum and leering at me. She’s lying in a twisted heap, her eyes open and glassy, throat brutally torn open.
“She was just shitty collateral, I guess,” Graham mutters as his eyes access the same scene as me.
A low growl rumbles in my chest as I turn in a slow circle, scanning every inch of the lobby. There’s no sign of Oakley, but a scuffed trail of blood leads deeper into the stacks.
“She’s gotta be here somewhere,” I mutter, more to myself than Graham. “Who the hell is this fucking guy? And where the fuck is the water boy I sent to fucking keep an eye on her?”
As if in answer, a muffled thump echoes from somewhere below us, like something heavy hitting the floor. My head whips toward the sound, zeroing in on the door markedEmployees Onlynear the back corner.
“Oakley?” I call out, the name ripping free before I can stop it. Stupid, reckless, giving away our position to God knows what’s waiting around the next corner.
But I don’t care. If she’s here, if she can hear me…I’ll risk anything for that chance.
There’s no response, just that endless, labored breathing.It’s coming from up ahead, from the direction of the study rooms. A cold fist clenches in my gut as we approach.
I’m moving before I can think, Graham hot on my heels as we barrel through the door. A harsh voice drifts up from the darkness.
“…won’t be getting away this time, my dear.”
A feral snarl rips from my throat as we reach the corner and see a cracked door. The storage room is dimly lit, boxes and shelves casting long, twisted shadows along the walls. And there, huddled in the far corner was some tweed and glasses wearing motherfucker.
Goddamn Giles wannabe turns just as I reach him, his piggy eyes widening comically behind his glasses. But he doesn’t have a chance to react before my hands are around his throat, slamming him back against the concrete wall.
